


ethereal

by spencerdee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, also just me and my fascination with the word ethereal, this is what i do when i get to work at 3 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spencerdee/pseuds/spencerdee
Summary: Lena, Emily, and Firsts: The first time Emily sees Lena without the accelerator.-You feel like a monster, a freak of nature, but you put on a brave front and raise your head to meet her eyes. She’s looking at you as if you’re the stars dusting the ebony sky. “You’re ethereal,” she says, and you feel the wind rush from your lungs.





	ethereal

You swear to whatever god is listening that Widowmaker will pay. You swear to yourself that your finger wouldn’t hesitate at the sight of a familiar face with dead eyes. Your old friend is no longer sentient within the body of Talon’s puppet, and you’re a fool for so long you believe otherwise.

Her mocking smile fills your mind as pain shoots through every nerve in your body. She has scored her bounty in the still body of an omnic that has done nothing but good to the world so cruel to those like him. You look up to Mondatta, and you know so many more do. You know they’re down there, mourning the death of a leader, a death you could have very well prevented.

You struggle to stand, but pain swallows your limbs like tar, and you begin to feel the tips of your fingers disconnect from the everything else in a dull haze of blue. The broken chronal accelerator sits like a heavy bulk of rubble on your rib cage, and you know that later it will settle on the roof with you somewhere in the vast expanse of space and time.

More than Mondatta’s death, this is what you hate. It’s selfish, but you’re terrified of returning to that emptiness and broken state of toeing the line between life and death. Worst, you’re terrified of leaving your life behind.

For the first time, barring your admittance to Overwatch, you have something to return to. It comes in the comforting image of a warm apartment, an excitable dog too big for his endless energy, and a remarkable woman with a heart of gold and a soul too pure.

You can’t leave that behind.

So, you clench your fists and push yourself forward. Home isn’t too far from King’s Road, and you can still manage a few blinks even with the blue sparks shooting from the chronal accelerator. You have to try, at the very least.

You curse Talon as you struggle to maintain your balance despite the pain and the headiness that comes with the dissociation. You curse Widowmaker as you clutch a roof’s edge after a blink that lost its power in the middle of the jump. You curse your own weakness as you fall through the building’s main doors, your skin turning translucent. Eddie, the doorman, helps you up, but you can see the fear in his eyes. His grip is strong, as you can expect from an omnic of his built, but his movements are rigid, a tell you’ve come to know comes from his nervousness, and it strikes you for the first time that rushing home may not have been the best idea. Emily has never seen you like this before. You’ve always kept the details of the Slipstream and the chronal accelerator vague before, and now you’re asking her to face you as you're fading away.

You struggle against Eddie’s hold as you near your apartment door, but his grip is strong as worry overrides his fear. You think of recalling, but the door opens, and all you can hear your hopes going down the drain. You can see the surprise and fear in her eyes, but she thanks Eddie and coaxes you into the apartment herself. You can feel her trembling, but she puts on a brave face. For you.

You can’t help but smile.

You love her; truly, wonderfully, and elatedly in love with this beautiful person. She’s brave, braver than you’ll ever be, and you think not for the first time that she’s the true hero in this relationship. She settles you on your favourite recliner, one that the two of you fell in love with during your trip to New York, and tugs at the straps to remove the chronal accelerator off of you. The pain subsides, and you breathe for the first time in what feels like forever.

You can feel the relief rolling off of her in waves as well. You’re finally home, and she’s just glad that you’re safe.

Your body is still all over, but the chronal accelerator implanted in your apartment is doing its duty. You can feel yourself becoming concrete again, but Widowmaker has done her damage. Your skin is still tinged with blue, and your limbs phase through the comfortable material of the recliner.

You avert your eyes, terrified of what you’ll see in Emily’s brown ones. You remember very well how your ex-girlfriend had reacted to seeing you in this state, broken and all over the place. She hadn’t wanted anything more to do with you, with a burden that could be gone at any moment. You don’t want to see that from Emily.

You feel like a monster, a freak of nature, but you put on a brave front and raise your head to meet her eyes.

She’s looking at you as if you’re the stars dusting the ebony sky.

“You’re ethereal,” she says, and you feel the wind rush from your lungs.

Her hand rises, shaking but determined in the path it’s taking. You meet her halfway, and watch in wonder as the blue subsides from your skin at her presence. You ignore the logical part of your mind that suggests it may just be the chronal accelerator working because you truly believe her to be magical, someone far greater than time and space herself.

She is ethereal, and you can’t believe your luck.

“You’re not,” you pause as a smile erupts on your face at the feeling of your fingers entwining, “disgusted?”

Pure confusion fills her face. “By you, pet? By this?” She leans forward and engulfs you in a hug, and you let the warmth of her skin chase away the cold of all your fears. “Never."

You clutch at the fabric of her clothes and wet her skin with your tears. You thanks whatever god is listening that they’ve given Emily to you.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'm going to do more "Lena, Emily, and Firsts". I don't have other ideas for firsts that hasn't already been done by others. But hey, if anyone's reading this and has a suggestion, feel free to drop me a line.


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